


Genetically inherited mental issues are, among other things,

by asetyleenihappiliekki



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol, Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, Death, Drugs, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-harming, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asetyleenihappiliekki/pseuds/asetyleenihappiliekki
Summary: Wade doesn’t f*ck him to death, even though it sometimes seems like a good way to go.Tony is drinking and screwing his palladium poisoning away. A ficlet of flashes and feelings.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Deadpool, Tony Stark/Wade Wilson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Genetically inherited mental issues are, among other things,

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrescentScar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrescentScar/gifts).



> This is a couple years old ficlet finally translated from Finnish to English by me, the original author. I feel happy to be able to take cover behind the fact that English is my second language. This is far from a perfect translation, but I want to practice my English writing skills. 
> 
> I can't hide from the matters concerning the content itself. This is a mess of a piece, all too-long sentences and with a duck-load of artistic freedoms. This is not the translation's fault. Originally written to a challenge where it was meant to write 25 sentences with certain words in certain order, this is far from what you would exactly call _readable_. I took some structural liberties in translation, but kept most of the sentences as they were as far as possible (Finnish and English are not apples from the same tree, after all). The story itself is mostly a mash of aesthetics. Flashes and feelings. 
> 
> I hope someone gets something out from this. At least I did.
> 
> And finally: CrescentScar. Thank you, my muse.

Tony receives the message in the speakers of his suit while still over the sea: _What the hell Tony – what are these photos, why, oh why – and of course you let me handle the press, I swear, Tony, one of these times I’m going to strangle you._

And yes, he knows what _these photos_ are. They are of him utterly wasted, one shoulder free from the open shirt, laughing against the scarred bare neck of the antihero called Deadpool, in the whirl of a night club. And he knows Pepper’s biting tone is very fucking justified. _For gods sake Tony, try getting you dick under control, I’m trying to run a company!_ He wants to explain but doesn’t know where to start and if he can, if he wants to.

Screw sophisticated vocabulary, he’s fucking screwed. Tony thinks later as he’s dragging Deadpool’s red suit off the antihero, a laugh bubbling in his ears. He has no regrets, only maybe a few, but certainly not right now; this is euphoria, this is heaven, this is getting wasted and high and screwed.

The world seems to be collectively out of it’s fucking mind, what now he’s banging a cold-blooded killer and a small-handed orange idiot is hailed as the president. Details of his sexually flavoured adventures leak non-stop in all types of front pages and Pepper keeps lecturing him. But the hell is it his fault if he, excuse him so fucking hard, can’t find the right one some fucking hypothetical God has created from his rib, or however it goes again, to be (en)caged. _Excuse me Pepper if I sometimes have an IQ smaller than an amoeba._ Fuck, et cetera, once again with no remorse he lets himself be driven like the finest Audi, harder than he maybe in reality could take, but he kinda deserves and wants every bruise. And Wade doesn’t fuck him to death, even though it sometimes seems like a good way to go, nor has he ever broken bones that weren’t already broken.

For a moment Tony gets lost wondering when the fuck Deadpool become Wade, but he forgets it when he gets more whiskey in his hand and sensitive skin under his lips.

They are a pair worse for wear, and hell if Tony knows how they even always end up back in the same sheets because they can’t stand each other. Tony’s a shit-rich self-destructive alcoholic and Wade is a nerve-wrecking nut-job with at least equal amount of self-destructive tendencies. He’s far from stable, but maybe that’s precisely why Tony lets Wade fuck him to bruises and almost unconscious, again and again, in the bed and against the sink, in the workshop and the back room of the conference house and on the false-gold plated toilet of a night club, _ah right there honey harsher harder don’t stop darling don’t stop don’t stop harder fuck don’t hold back harder!_

ANTI”HERO” DEADPOOL BLOWS UP A CREMATORIUM – HAS TONY STARK HIT A PERSONAL ROCK BOTTOM?

Pepper studies him for a second like bacteria on a petri dish and sentences him home. ”I’m not drunk any more, this is hang-over”, Tony tries, but okey, he does rather go back home to eat banana, _if you know what I mean_ , than fades away at the meeting table.

He hasn’t saved anyone in weeks, not after he accidentally flew through a skyscraper. After that he’s spent 24/7 drunk or unconscious or pants around his ankles. Honest to god he forgets he’s not in his suit and tries to deliver two minor-raping junkies to custody, and the next thing he knows he’s on the ground surrounded by blood and Deadpool’s ten questions. The girl’s screaming and he’s missing a tooth, and at least the rapists are missing something more, like a life, and fuck he’s out of his mind. Maybe Afghanistan took something else than his heart, too, or perhaps this was all in his DNA to begin with, genetically inherited mental issues are, among other things, depression, bipolar disorders, and schizophrenia, so why not plain ordinary every-day insanity.

They are both covered in blood and Tony’s in pain and maybe he just wants to be numb, because they fuck there in the middle of the slaughter like bunnies in heat, and then the police is there but he doesn’t care, and of fucking course it’s in the morning’s paper and he’s not yet dead and has to put up with Pepper.

There’s no return for him: he’s already slid beyond the event horizon; here time flows on its on accords. He doesn’t know when he’ll tell or if he’ll tell, they’ll darn well know when he’s dead, but the arc reactor will kill him unless he finds a more pleasant way to die. This is the twilight of his life, and if the only streetlight is booze and weed and violent sex. Well, in that case, at least he has a streetlight in his dusk, even though the light’s dome is beginning to crumple like his suit still from the drive-through.

And that’s why Tony’s sitting here on Wade’s pelvis and hopes Wade would get help cause the bastard can’t even die, tracking the line of the underwires of the red bra on Wade with his nails, and Wade’s talking and talking though he doesn’t know what he’s saying, and he wants to be better high and better drunk and feel only euphoria and euphoria only and rather concrete pain instead of this and is it too much asked for this to be over Wade has killed others too he doesn’t really want to die he doesn’t want to doesn’t want to he’s so fucking tired

Someone is breathing softly by his ear. Tony blinks. He’s been floating but isn’t anymore, he want’s back. ”Pepper”, he whispers, because it’s Pepper, there, with him. The beeping of the machines is even. Pepper wakes up in her chair, she almost smiles but says, dryly: ”There’s a super moon next week, and Stark Industries is launching a new satellite in a big spectacle. Try staying alive until then.”

Whiskey scorches his throat soothingly. Tony looks at the holo-screen on which a dot named Deadpool dances on small circles like a deathly ballerina. Maybe it’s better this way. He submits to the palladium poisoning and pours more whiskey down his throat.


End file.
